Pages

Friday, 23 September 2011

Early on Tuesday morning, I lied to my Twitter followers. ‘Hello,’ I tweeted. ‘I’m going away for a few days.’ But, in fact, I wasn’t planning a week off, nor was I packing my sun hat for yet another of my Judith Chalmers jaunts. In fact, I’d just been told that I have cancer. Yes, have. We’re back to that bastard present tense.

And so, since some of you may have noticed in the interim that I’ve been rather abruptly and conspicuously absent from my usual online hangouts, you might even perhaps have concluded, as is often the case when I’m not boring the arse off you with status updates about my telly habits and tweets about my toilet habits, that something is up. And alas, I’m afraid you'd be right, you clever buggers.

There is no easy way to explain what must come next, so I’m just going to launch it at you as necessarily abruptly as it was launched at me mere moments before that fib of a tweet. So here it is: my cancer has returned. Not as a localised recurrence, but a distant spread. It’s now grade 4 (as we know, there is no grade 5) which is also known as a secondary cancer or, to be blunt, a cancer which cannot be cured.

The spread is to my bones: not just in my back, as was first my suspicion, but everywhere, in the form of dot-like tumours (worst in my spine, hips, shoulders, ribs, clavicles, sternum). All of which explains the increasing pain I’ve been in recently whose severity I have, for longer than I care to admit, been denying to those around me – most of all me. (It’s funny – I always used to wonder as a kid whether I had a superpower of some sort, and had an inkling that it might be a superhuman pain threshold... turns out an oncologist has since confirmed just that, albeit in a somewhat less superhero-ey manner. Henceforth expect to see my undies on the outside of my leggings.)

To repeat what I said above, this cannot be cured, but it CAN be managed. So here’s some good news. In terms of my prognosis, we’re not talking months, but years: hopefully lots of them. (My ultimate goal, bizarre as it may sound, is to outlive Sgt Pepper.) And here’s some more good news: there is NO spread to my organs. Hence I’m told that there are plenty of things we can do to keep my pain to a bare minimum, to keep the dots at bay, and to ensure me a very good quality of life. Those things began on Monday/Tuesday this week when, after a several-weeks-long battle to get taken seriously about the pain in my back, shoulders and head (yep, we’re back to that fucking Tupperware again), a final trip to my GP turned into yet another trip to A&E, which then turned into an emergency trip to my beloved Smiley Surgeon, who kicked enough ass to get me a skinful of morphine, a canister-full of ‘laughing’ gas and an ambulance trip to a ward at the Royal Marsden, from where I type this post.

The time inbetween, if you’ll excuse me glossing over the detail (this, alas, is no time for detail: I can barely even get my mind around the headlines) has been a terrifying whirlwind of scans, X-rays, tests, CTs, MRIs, bloods, checks, scary conversations, tears, and confirmed – and re-confirmed – diagnoses.

My schedule of treatment remains to be decided – the ever-reliable Curly Professor is charged with choosing the necessary course later this afternoon­ ­– but it will most likely include a number of methods designed to keep my secondary cancer at a manageable level for as long as the NHS is able. Such methods will include (again, forgive the childish terms for now; I’m still learning the language) a three-weekly intravenous infusion of ‘bone juice’ to transfer calcium from my blood to my bones (where it’s most needed), as well as new injections of hormone therapy, pain-reducing radiotherapy wherever necessary and – sharp intake of breath – a possible course of chemo which, I am assured (oh, who am I kidding – which I have insisted) must NOT be like my last experience. ‘You’re talking about quality of life?’ I said to one consultant. ‘Well this,’ I declared, tugging on a strand of shoulder-length hair, ‘is my quality of life. AND I’M KEEPING IT.’

I apologise, dear reader, for this shitness landing in your inbox/Twitter stream/Facebook page so unceremoniously. But frankly, it’s news that just needs to be out there now and this seems as good a method as any to do it. I further apologise for the lack of replies I’ve sent to your lovely declarations of support following my last post about my panic-attacks (oh, how I hate having been right about that worry); and I apologise yet further to all the people who have been hearing this devastating news throughout the course of the week, only to get in touch with immense offers of assistance and affirmations of love and hear nothing back from me. In time, I hope I will be able to reply to most – if not all – of you, with something that’s strung together a bit better than this barely cohesive stream of worrying words.

All of that said: I am, of course, happy to answer any questions you might have, whenever you might have them. I want to be as open and matter-of-fact and kick-ass about this as possible, and I want you to be too. This is, of course, utterly devastating, but Peter and my family and I want to do our utmost to see it as a relief (hey, it could have been worse); a privilege, almost; an opportunity to live as exceptional an existence as we can for as long as we are able. Which, in my language, pretty much translates to continuing to live the incredibly lovely and happy life I currently enjoy (just, y’know, without the regular angry emails to Sky/BT/British Gas).

What I need from you now – and yes, I’m getting all cancer-bossy again: deal with it – is to please remain calm, to keep your seatbelts fastened, your senses of humour intact and, if you have the ability through a phone or an email account or a Twitter reply or a Facebook message, then please please just BE A MATE to my husband and my parents and my brother and my family and my friends. As shitty as my health outlook is at the moment, I’d still much rather be in my position than theirs, and it would thus make me immeasurably happy if you’d just, y’know, bethere for them.

Because I’m a lucky bugger (ha, yes: lucky me) with a helluva lot of mates both in person and online, there may be a number of responses to this post. I will, as ever, be hugely appreciative of them but, again, please forgive me for not replying. I’m tired and I’m emotional and I’m on a dizzying treatment schedule and my first priority must remain keeping my pain at bay. But now I’m back in the world of the strangely cathartic therapy that is blogging and social media, this will, again, become my preferred point of contact and I promise I’ll do my best to be available online as regularly as I ever am, whingeing just as much about X-Factor contestants as cancerous bones.

I’m sorry for bumming you out with all this, just as I’m sorry for lying to you in that tweet on Tuesday morning. I just needed to buy some time, is all: for the hospital admission, for the scans, for the treatment, for the management of pain, for the confirmation of my diagnosis, for my Peter, for my family, for my friends and, of course, for the inevitable return to the shit jokes and cacophony of expletives that must follow any cancer diagnosis. For the sentence which followed ‘I’m so sorry, you guys, but my cancer is back’ wasn’t a motivational message or an inspiring anecdote, or a go-easy-on-everyone nugget of wisdom, but instead a Lisa Lynch standard: ‘oh, and I’ve left skid marks in the loo and you’re just going to have to fucking well deal with them.’

76 comments:

Hey lisa,I'm sorry to hear about the bullshit. But I totally agree that you can manage it really well through lifestyle choices. You probably already know about her but Kris Carr has stage 4 in her lungs & liver and has had for 8years and she's doing amazingly well. Her website is www.crazysexylife.com. Im also doing really well with "incurable" cancer so if you want a chat, just let me know. We have a mutual friend in Leo so we could always meet up for a cuppa one time. Sending you lots of love. Polly x

Your blog link was tweeted out by Allison @Arngrim this morning, and this is the first time I have ever been to your blog. I wanted to tell you that you are a brave, amazing woman. I think it's wonderful that you are allowing your readers to know what's happening with you in the detail you gave, and I love your attitude about going forward. I'm sending peace, wisdom, endurance of the physical and emotional kind, strength, hope, comfort, and that your family, friends, and readership surround you and uplift you. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Right now I have no magical words of wisdom and I am unlikely to have anytime soon, platitudes you Dont need. All I can think of to say right now is bastardbastard bullshit!! I do however know someone who is doing extremely well- in medically as far as I can tell-the same situation as you.You have way closer friends than I but if you ever want to scream blue murder at someone not so close my ears are up to it. Hang in there girl. xx

Don't you dare apologise. Nothing I can say, I just sit here in absolute admiration and curse myself for thinking I have any problems ever. I know things are relative, but there is no context that could bring the petty isht most of us deal with anywhere near the shitstorm you've had to, and continue to deal with. There's is nothing I can say, this is so unfair and devastating and the worst news and the fact that you remain so chipper and simply deal with this leaves me dumbfounded and in total awe.I wish things were different for you, truly, you're amazing, I know you'll find a way of managing it, let nothing hold you back ever.Mr. Mabe.

Well, what is there to say to this. I've had the dreaded cancer spread news before from a loved one, but didn't have a clue how to process that either. I've been following your story for a long time now, and I was always hopeful this post would never appear. Most people would resign themselves to the news and just give up trying, but I know you won't, and why on earth should you! You still have plenty to give to this world and some stupid bloody cancer isn't going to stop you doing it. You are one of the strongest people I have ever come across, and I have complete faith that your positivity and stubbornness will stop this from becoming a nightmare and completely turn it around somehow. Of course it is completely shit, but if anyone is badass enough to make this cancer as unwelcome as possible it's you. I would say something like "don't give up" but I know full well you won't, you've got bloody years left yet, you'll probably end up outliving me (and I'm only 21)! You are an inspiration, and your friends, family and all us readers are bloody lucky to have you. I look forward to reading about your fight back and the awesome life you're going to have, for a long long time to come. Much Love, Richard.

I didn't comment here yet(as far as I know...), although I am reading your blog since a long time and follow your updates regularly. Your writing stroke a cord in me, as my mother had breast cancer some years ago now.

Basically, I just want to say: I am so feeling with you and although we don't know each other, I want to give you a big, big hug! Just be sure (though you will be aware of that, regarding your number of followers/readers ;) ) that there are people thinking of how you are. Best, Feli

I'm not one of your readers, but a friend of mine tweeted the post this morning. I wanted to pass along encouragement. My mother was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer in late 2004. It was a rare cancer, always terminal, and already metastasized all over the place. She had another 5.5 years in her anyway and made it until 2010. I hope that you have many years ahead of you yet and that, like her, you'll enjoy the majority of your time. And I'm so sorry.

Have come to your blog from a Twitter link and am so sorry to hear your news. I wish I'd found you under happier circumstances but will be following your progress from now on - sounds like a rough journey but you'll have plenty of company along the way.

Hello there... Stumbled across this blog via a following friend of mine.

First I'd like to say thanks! I've never been called a 'clever bugger'. Quite refreshing that from some of the names I've had.

Second - you're not alone. I have 2 very close friends in the same predicament as your good self with a much shorter time span on the face of this planet than you expect, and we all no doubt hope, that you seem confident of seeing. Coming from a complete stranger you probably think - 'cock'! That's better. Told you I'm not used to being called a clever bugger... Still, I'll be dropping by from time to time with my sarcastic comments and pearls of wisdom. Soon you'll forget that you are a bit poorly and enter into the spirit that life is for the living and worry about the other things another day. All the best to you and yours. Keep blogging.

I'm in tears here reading your post. Its almost a year to the day that I was diagnosed with breast cancer and you were one of the first people that I was in contact with and you sent me such a lovely email (full of swear words that had me literally laughing out loud!).I'm so sorry to hear what you're going through but I know there is no stronger person on this planet and that you are a tough S.O.B! Hugs, kisses and huge positive vibes from IrelandJacinta

Utterly, painfully, unfair. Even if Dave Grohl does fancy you and you have a pain-threshold super-power, I'm still not playing a game of life-swapsies with you any time soon.

Will not bother you with texts and stuff (much) as you're going to be inundated with that, but will try and sort out drinks with your bruvva and Pete v soon (if there's any chance of bribing them away from you for an hour with a pint - I suspect it's doable).

As for you, well, you'll just have to wait till your beloved Smiley says you can drink again, at which point you're welcome to join us. :)

We... a) love you just *tons*, b) wish you wonderful things to intersperse amongst the bollocks, and c) think you really should leave cancer to other people, preferably fictitious. Seriously, it's like some kind of monomania with you... Tsk.

Lisa, I've been following your blog since I was diagnosed with bc in June 09 and this really is the post I never wanted to read. I'm so sorry to hear this news but confident that you'll tackle it head on as you have every other challenge that's been thrown at you. Lots of love to you and your family,Carlie xxx

Keep the blogs coming, whenever you able. Your attitude is so inspiring, Lisa. I know you say you don't have faith the way I believe, but you express love and courage and faith in the way you fight and keep on fighting, and care and keep on caring for your loved ones. you are all in my thoughts and prayers.

Hi Lisa. I don't know you but have occasionally read your blog. I'm so sorry to hear this news and I'm inspired by how calmly and eloquently you've written this post. It seems like you have a lot of support on here and you're in my thoughts. Lots of good wishes from me. x

Lisa, keep fighting girl! I have recently been diagnosed, rather unexpectedly, with secondaries in my liver. I signed up pretty quick to a drugs trial (mainly so as to avoid chemo for as long as poss, I like my new hair growth too!) which is proving interesting - groovy side effects but as long as it's doing the job...found out I had it in my other breast so am having some perky new ones instead. Scans suck but at least they find all the hidden 'orrible bits so you know where you are. Keep smiling and keep blogging, and if you're in the Brum area anytime give me a shout :-)

Hello Mrs L.Today when my hubby got home from work, I told him that a girl I knew had some bad news. Ofcourse I don't know you (not a stalker, never fear), just merely one of your follower (crikey, now I'm making you sound like Jesus, this is NOT going well). But you are someone that we'd all like to know, to be friends with. Hellsbells, you tweeted me once and I made it a favourite. I can only imagine what truly shitty news this is for you, your P, Sgt Pepper and your lovely family. My stomach dropped when I read it, so I can't imagine how real lifer feel. I am sending you all my love and we all need you to kick this bullshits arse xx love Nicola/@pickypants

Hello Mrs L.Today when my hubby got home from work, I told him that a girl I knew had some bad news. Ofcourse I don't know you (not a stalker, never fear), just merely one of your follower (crikey, now I'm making you sound like Jesus, this is NOT going well). But you are someone that we'd all like to know, to be friends with. Hellsbells, you tweeted me once and I made it a favourite. I can only imagine what truly shitty news this is for you, your P, Sgt Pepper and your lovely family. My stomach dropped when I read it, so I can't imagine how real lifers feel. I am sending you all my love and we all need you to kick this bullshits arse xx

I've been reading your blog ever since Stephen Fry just so happened to push us to you by Twitter. Ever since you have been my inspiration to really live life. Not just glide through- really live. I'm just an anonymous reader who thinks you are amazing and I'm thinking of you and your family.

I have followed your blog since I stumbled upon it in May not long after I had been diagnosed. Your blog is brilliant it kept me informed and laughing through my chemo.

I cannot imagine how you and P and your family must be feeling. My thoughts are with you all and I know from your blog that if anyone can deal with this it is you and I look forward to reading your blog for a long time yet. What can I say? Just continue to be the amazing, strong and funny woman you are even when you feel like shit.

I don't EVEN know what to say...sendin you (((GIANT HUGS))) from the USA. You've encouraged me in my battle of the Bullshit with emails & Tweets. Please know I'm sendin lots of love & positive, healing vibes to you & yours. You are stronger, TOUGHER, and WAY COOLER than the Bullshit! Keep kickin ass!

Trying to see the positive side (I shall have Pollyanna engraved on my gravestone instead of my actual name I'm sure) I know someone who lived for a very long time with secondaries in her bone and with a good quality of life too. I very much hope you can do the same. If strength of mind has anything to do with it (and I think it has) I shall expect you to be around for a long time yet.

I have read your book, followed you on Twitter, FB, Blog etc. Got excited when you replied to me! I have sung your praises far and wide to all and sundry and will continue to do so. The latest news is SHIT. Knocked me for six, heaven knows what it has done for you and your family. If love and good thoughts could get rid of this Bullshit then you would be clear of it. Am willing the Super hero to battle through, you have done a bloody good job of it already. Fight like a bitch, we are fighting with you. I know this is not a time for asking but please keep writing. We need to keep reading. xxxxxx

Oh man, cancer sucks. I'm sorry that you and your loved ones are having to go through this again.

Not sure if I've ever left a comment before but I've been following you ever since the Stephen Fry tweet. Just wanted to leave a little love and support and say how gutted I am for you, even as a virtual stranger.

If anyone can get through something like this, you can, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be upset about how outrageously unfair it is.

We actually share a birthday too, so from a fellow August 30th-er, I wish you the best of luck in fighting this thing xxx

Dear Lisa, I have been following you since I was diagnosed with the bullshit last year aged 32. I have laughed and cried and nodded at so many of your wonderful posts - you have kept me going on many occasions. I am so terribly sorry to read this news. I know there is nothing anyone can say really, but know that people you don't even know are wishing you all the best. Much love to you and your family. xxx

Oh no! I've been following your blog since I heard about you from Simon Cohn (I was doing a Masters at Cambridge). The blog became even more important to me when my father was diagnosed with lymphoma last year. His is "incurable" too and it is a crap concept to come to terms with. I honestly still haven't accepted it when it comes to my dad. I'm so sorry about this news but I know you have so many amazing people around you and the best f-ing attitude ever. I'm sending good wishes through the ether!

Welcome to the club!!!!!!!!! Albeit a club nobody wants to be in, and (I'm sure) neither of us ever anticipated we would join. It's a shitter, (which is, most definitely, an understatement) of the HIGHEST order... but just want to say I'm sending every good vibe and virtual hug/high five/love because the bullshit might be back but we won't be beaten....

now, enough of the cheesy lovey stuff... get back to tweeting about poo and writing emails of complaint to British Gas (because you know they ALWAYS deserve it!) and writing the truth, whatever that is, here...

I really don't have anything useful to say, as usual. You have a wonderful family and collection of real-world friends to be there and love you and, you're right, they'll need someone to love them back. I tripped over your blog in the summer of 2008. I was going through some misery-inducing treatment and found myself unexpectedly and unhappily on my own. It was easy to spend too much time surfing. Wallowing in my own Greek tragedy, your blog brought me up sharp. How dare I feel sorry for myself. I wasn't facing what your parents were going through.Lately, I've been a lazy blogger and not keeping up. Last week, something brought me back to your blog. A chilly feeling. I can't imagine that your husband, family and friends will derive any comfort from the ramblings of a total stranger but I would just like to say that I'm thinking about them. Mad x

Fuck that cunting cancer (and if my iPad changes cunting to cunning once more I will be even MORE cross. I love you Apple but you are not my moral compass... Am I reading too much in to a spell checker??). Will be thinking of you, and sending all good vibes. Lots of love xxx

Oh lovely, lovely Lisa. You have touched so many people's lives - mine included. From when I first started blogging, you became my aspirational writer: the way you use words inspires me to improve my own writing on a daily basis; and as for your grammar - well, you are it's Queen Bee!

Like many others, I feel like I know you even though I don't (that's what you get for your delicious style of over-sharing). And you were so kind to me when I started blogging - and had NO idea what I was doing - giving me advice and words of encouragement.

I have been thinking about you so much over the last couple of days and however hard I try, I really can't imagine what you are going through and how bloody awful it is (I hope this doesn't look too much like pity).

I wish I had something clever to say to make you feel better about your situation, but I don't, and what words could? But I just want you to know how much I am thinking of you and your family. You are very loved Lisa.

I am a stranger who stumbled across your blog somehow years ago and have followed it ever since because I grew to like you and your writing so much. I don't know what to say today except that this is horrible, terrible news and my heart goes out to you and your dear husband and family. Sending you love and strength for the years to come. xxxx

Hey you!!well this is my first visit to your sight i have been clear from nhl cancer for 4 years (NEARLY) and have just started to write my book and publish my blogs, I found your book and read it and thought it was just brill , you have been such an inspiration for me and the path i want my book to follow, (funny joky a-z of coping with cancer)Your honestly and expression rang true to me on many levels an di loved that about you so i found your blog and began to read.OH NO !! that is just pooer than poo thats actually been there so long its turned that funny whote colour, i am so crappy for you i wont say i am sorry for you as i know you will hear that about a billion million times and actually its great people feel it but come on dont feel sorry for her shes beat it once and will fight this bastard too xxKeep positive keep fun keep inspiring us all , this will be tough and by god 2nd time round you know whats a coming but you can do this . If you get a chance to read my blog and pass me some advice on getting my book published how and when , i would be extremely greatful all advice is amazing.But for now you concentrate on kicking this cancers butt shrink those tumours and teach them whose boss..... oh and keep smiling honey it always helped me xxxhttp://justanotherlifeexperience.blogspot.com/xx niki ham

So upset to read this post, why do some people get more than their fair share of "the bad bits"?I'm having a shitty time this year, but my problems are nothing compared to your health ones. Your post has actually made me feel stronger and more determined to get out there and sort my life out, just because I still can.My mother has been managing her cancer for 7 years, and she also beat meningitis and septicaemia this summer, and she is still going strong, i think she will be with us for many years yet.Sending love to all your family xElaine

Hi LisaI have been an avid reader of your blog (and book) since my diagnosis of BC about a year ago. Your honesty and witty writing kept me sane in my darkest days.I am probably closer to your mother's age than yours and it broke my heart that someone as young as you was having to go through this shit.When I read your most recent post I had to explain to my husband that I was crying because a girl I had never met had had some truly dreadful news.I am sending you all my love and many hugs Elaine x

Was weirdly thinking about you a few days ago (yes-I sound like a stalker!) and thought just how pleased I was for you that you're life was "back to normal". Was truly devastated when I read your blog. I have followed your blog since I was diagnosed in October 2008. My cancer came back in July this year and it fucking sucks.

Lisa your writing is truly incredible and please dont let this new diagnosis bring you down as for so many of us that follow you, you truly inspire us to keep going.

Lurker here. Got no words that are right or enough but had to comment. Feel sick and sad reading your news... life just isn't fucking fair. Amazed and humbled by your strength though. You are superwoman.

First of all there’s no need to apologise whatsoever for the unceremonious landing of this news or the lack of replies.

The occasion demands I weigh in with something profound, but my IQ only goes up to 11 [or is that only the volume] & I’ll not resort to Google to assist me.

All that I’m aware of is that in the short space of time I’ve known you, courtesy of the harmonious world of social networking, you’ve always had a positive outlook on everything even & you still do now when faced with the shittiest of news. You’re an inspirational to many. You’re a star!

I read your book between my mastectomy and the start of chemo. I fondly imagined you'd finished all treatment now and were getting on with life. I really hope that the next few years can be very heavily weighted in favour of fun and good times with only a small proportion of time and effort taken up for treatment. If you do have to have chemo, the cold cap worked for me - though whilst using it I only washed my hair once a week and only brushed it if going somewhere. Massive hugs

After 67 comments--just in case you had any doubt about exactly what a force for good you and this blog have been?!--I could easily repeat what everyone else has said, since it mirrors precisely how I feel, especially in the general category of asserting your incomprehensible levels of awesomeness and wanting to beat on the Cancer Fairy with a very large stick indeed.

But when I first read this, my reaction was so typically selfish; as the tears sprang to my eyes, I instantly thought, "But this can't happen! I still don't have any money yet to get to the UK so I can hug Lisa for about ten minutes solid and then tell her how much I love her in person!!"

You see? IT'S ALL ABOUT ME.

But that's just one more reason to stick around (as if you didn't have enough already?); you have to be there in London whenever I manage to get my impecunious Anglophilic ass back over there. Given that you were one of the first people I wanted to see anyway, I think it's safe to say you've now been bumped to the top of the queue...though really, hon, you honestly didn't have to go to the trouble of getting cancer again just for the dubious privilege of meeting me... ;)

But that's Our Lisa all over, isn't it? Always going the extra mile for her friends...one of the countless reasons why she's so immensely loved, and why there are boatloads of positive karmic energy and good thoughts being beamed her direction from all over the globe.

That having been said, I still have never wished more that {{massive hugs}} weren't just words on a screen but were literal instead--for you, P & your family. Please stick around; I promise that you can leave skid marks whenever you like. ♥

Sorry you are joining Club Mets. I presented with a low volume of bone mets in 2009 at 43. Glad to say I have been stable on Tamoxifen ever since. If you haven't, you might want to see the stage iv board at bc.org. We get it cause we've got it too...

Oh Lisa, I am so, so sorry to hear this. I'm another young 'un and read your book in one sitting and both your blog and book have given me so much strength whilst I try and kick my breast cancer's ass. Thank you so much for that. I just wish there was something I could do in return to give you strength and help you out.

I just started following your accounts last month. To be honest, not even sure how I found it. I just really enjoyed reading your and have enjoyed following you. I am so sorry for what you are going through. I am so VERY thankful it is just in your bones...yeah it sucks, sucks the big one...but so very glad it has not spread to your organs. You are in my thoughts and so very sorry you are dealing with this bullshit again.

Hi LisaSorry to hear about this, what a total f**king nightmare it is to have the bullshit back again. It's going to totally suck, but with family, friends and the crazies off the interweb it will be doable, even though it's going to be nightmarish once more. You helped me so much when I was going through similar stuff, that I only wish I could do so in return.Thinking of youx

I have no idea how you, or your love ones must feel at this moment in time but I just know you're one of the strongest, if not thee strongest, women I have ever come across and I know you can get through this. Just hang tight and enjoy life and be the best you can be!

Oh crap. Piss, fuck, wank and buggery. Just come back from post-chemo holiday to read this post - soooo the post I never wanted to read. I don't know you but so wish I did - you made me LMAO when I didn't think it was possible....

One thing to add to all the comments here - written so much better than I can and all of which I heartily second - please make sure that the blog carries on being FOR YOU, not for us...... What I mean is, only write when it's helping you, not out of any kind of obligation to anyone else........

In the meantime massive cyber hugs to you and your lovely P (if that isn't a bit creepy from a total stranger), J xx

Eh up

Welcome to the website of me, Lisa Lynch: author, editor, blogger, wife, Ram, telly-addict, doofus, cancer bitch (but not, I hasten to add, cancer's bitch). The latter of those things is what initially got me blogging, swearing my way through The Bullshit following a pesky breast-cancer diagnosis at 28. Some three years down the line – with newly grown hair, a newly published book and a newly perky rack – I dared to assume that I'd seen the worst… only for the c-word to crop up once more: this time in my bones and brain, and this time incurable.

And so, from being a blog intended to chart my evolution from 'the girl who has cancer' to merely 'the girl', it seems we're back to the former. (If, indeed, it's still acceptable to even call yourself a girl in your thirties. Which, let's be honest, it probably isn't.) But before you write this off as Just Another Moany Health Blog, stick with me. Because cancer or no cancer, curable or incurable… I'll still tell it the way I see it. The universe might be in control of what’s going on in my body, but I'm in control of what’s going on in my blog. Which is why I hope you'll continue to join me as I write my way through my experiences. You see, this isn't a story about some poor, unlucky lass being taken down by cancer; it's simply a story about the extraordinary life of an ordinary girl woman.

Mailing list

To receive blog-post alerts, news and special offers from Alright Tit, email signmeup@alrighttit.com to subscribe to the mailing list.

My virtual homes

GROHL LOVES LYNCH

ALL WRITING AT THIS SITE IS COPYRIGHT OF LISA LYNCH. HEADER ILLUSTRATION COPYRIGHT OF LEE COZENS. BLOGGER TEMPLATE AND DESIGN COPYRIGHT OF ANDY BRYANT. YOU MAY NOT COPY OR OTHERWISE REPRODUCE ANY OF THIS MATERIAL WITHOUT PRIOR WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR.